Comic-Con Thirst
by mmjgwrites
Summary: A m actor/f fan real person fantasy fic. You can imagine any actor. A reader insert with shifting POV between actor and fan. A popular actor is doing a solo panel at Comic-Con. He finds himself instantly attracted to one of the fans participating in the Q&A. RPF M/F SMUT
1. Chapter 1

The Comic-Con panel was going well. The jokes and behind-the-scenes factoids the moderator told warmed the audience to an excited buzz and the seats were full despite it being a solo appearance. The conference room was not too hot or cold, though the people in the audience might disagree.

But now it was the Q&A portion, a minefield full of pleas for spoilers and questions that no one should ever be asked to answer publicly. It was difficult to dodge or deflect questions like that at a solo panel, but it was getting easier.

The first batch of questions were complementary and story-focused. The answers came almost automatically, but that was ok. The fans that noticed the repetition would forgive him. Mostly. There were always a few that expected too much. The second and third rounds passed with laughs, creative theories, and just one awkward question about romantic relationships on set.

By the time the fourth round of fans lined up behind the mics, the two water bottles that had been provided were empty and the need to visit the bathroom was growing, but this would be the final round, so it wasn't an emergency.

Eventually, there were only two questions left. The penultimate question came from a woman that made the jetlag worth it.

"Hi," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling, but not quite making eye contact.

"Hi, sweetheart." She made eye contact then. The affectionate moniker came out without thought, but no regret followed. She was cute, with an air of quirky kindness that was irresistible.

Her mouth fell open and morphed into a wide smile before she caught her tongue between her teeth. "Sweetheart, huh?"

That earned her a smile in return. "Sorry. Too familiar?"

"Oh no, it's fine," she said, then twisted away from the mic, pointing fingers at random people on both sides of the aisle. "Somebody got that on video, right? Anybody?" A teenage girl a few rows back stood up and waved her hand, declaring that she had caught the moment on her phone.

"Great! I'll find you after. Now I just need to figure out how to make a GIF." Laughter rolled through the audience as she turned back to the stage.

Her confidence and sense of humor were delightful, but it was impossible to ignore the blush spreading across her cheeks and chest. The ache that came from smiling almost non-stop for the last hour couldn't stop the grin that blush deserved.

"You never introduced yourself. What's your name, sweetheart?"

She let out a breathy laugh and said her name. It was a good name, the kind of name that would fit perfectly into a moan.

"Now that that's out of the way," she said, her smile still plastered on as she asked a question that wasn't familiar at all. It struck at the heart of the character the panel was about, the story behind the plot that played out on screen.

It took a few minutes to answer, but the smiles remained through all the words, two winks, and one bitten bottom lip. Too soon, the moderator thanked her and attention turned to the last fan at the mic who asked a question about movie makeup.

After the thank yous and applause, the rush of bodies headed to the exits blocked any possibility of a last glimpse. It was time to sign autographs.

There were two hours scheduled to sign autographs and three hours worth of people standing in line. A sore hand sucked, but letting down fans was worse. Walking the line between efficiency and connection would not be easy.

An hour and a half in, the hand cramp was on the wrong side of bearable, but everyone had been understanding of the need to keep the line moving. And then, there she was. Sweet, blushing question cutie. Sweetheart.

Her smile was bright and wide and she curved her fingers into a wave and walked up to the table. "Hello again," she said.

"Hello, hello."

She produced a velvet bound notebook and flipped toward the back to find a blank page before handing it over.

"Did you find the girl with the video?"

She shook her head, popping her tongue against her teeth to make a disappointed sound. "No, but maybe I'll get lucky and find it on Tumblr."

"Well, you're gonna need more than a signature to make up for that. We taking a picture together later?"

She laughed as her bright blush returned. "No," she said, with what sounded like regret. "I've got other autographs to get. But I've got my phone." She patted the front of the messenger bag slung on her hip. "Wanna take a selfie together?"

The temptation of the closeness a selfie required was almost enough to forget about the mass of people still in line who would also want pictures, but the consequences made themselves known when one of the nearby Comic-Con employees cleared their throat and nodded toward the line while tapping the smartwatch on their wrist. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'd love to, but you take one and you have to take a lot more than one."

"I understand. I can still get an autograph though, right?" She looked down at the blank notebook page with raised eyebrows.

"Of course." The ink was drying when the realization hit. "I didn't even ask you how to spell your name. Did I get it right?"

"Yeah, you did." Her smile melted into a relaxed sigh as she reached for the notebook. "Thank you." Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around the edge of the notebook and began to pull it away.

"Wait." It was a ridiculous, stupid move that could backfire in too many ways to count. But when the ink set, there were still no regrets. When she reached for the notebook again it was flipped closed, but her fingers were still warm. "I hope you get all your autographs."

"Thanks. I hope you don't get roped into any weird photos."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to be in some weird photos. That's usually my favorite part of a con. This time though..."

"What? Find a new favorite?"

She asked so innocently it was hard to tell if she really didn't recognize the flirty line. Before another word was said, the employee with an itchy throat approached and said the line had to get moving again. She apologized, putting her notebook in her bag as she walked away. Before she disappeared behind another line of people, she turned and gave one last smile.

Now, there were more autographs to sign and soon there'd be pictures to take. Then there'd be nothing to do but order room service and see if the postscript on the autograph had been a mistake.

"Oh my god! He was totally flirting with you. I cannot believe this! How are you not freaking out?"

Once he was out of sight, hidden behind a zigzag of bodies, the whole exchange felt like a hazy daydream. "He was really nice, but he wasn't flirting."

"Uh, yeah, he was, sweetheart. I was there. I saw it. I watched your whole chat while everyone behind you stared daggers into your back."

"He's a movie star. He was not flirting with me." No need to mention the belly butterflies. They were only a one-way indication of attraction. Movie stars don't fall for fans. "I bet he picks someone at every con to call sweetheart."

"Maybe. What'd he write in your notebook?"

The autograph. He'd added something. After the correctly spelled name, he'd written, Thanks for the great question, sweetheart. Below the scrawl of his signature it continued, P.S. I owe you a photo. Beneath that was ten numbers separated by two dashes. A phone number. His phone number? That was not possible. There was no way he would share that. Movie stars don't give out their phone number.

"So, what'd he write?"

"Um…."

The notebook was snatched away.

"Oh. My. God."

The hotel food was decent. There were not a thousand missed calls and texts. That was a win. But there were no missed calls or texts from any unknown numbers at all.

It had been a long shot. Probably came off as creepy. Then again, maybe she hadn't looked at the message yet. She said she had a lot of autographs to get. How could she have missed it though?

There were not a thousand notifications. That was more than enough to be thankful for.

Jetlag meant bedtime was two hours earlier than it should have been, but at least there was no flight to catch the next day.

The buzzing vibration of the phone almost went unnoticed on the nightstand. Almost. It was a text. From an unknown number.

Is this actually you?  
-Sweetheart

Jetlag was no match for Sweetheart. It was time to take some sleepy selfies.


	2. Chapter 2

Is this is actually you?  
-Sweetheart

Once the message was sent, she felt the urge to throw her phone across the room and hide under a pile of blankets. She placed the phone on the nightstand next to her and tried to think of something else.

But what came to mind? His hair. His smile. The way his mouth wrapped around her name. A flutter of nerves mingled with an ache of desire in her belly.

This could not be happening.

But then her phone chimed, the sound short and bright like it was every time she received a text. That seemed wrong. It should sound like fireworks or explosions or cars crashing or elephants stampeding or, or…. Just something big and loud to match how she felt inside.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the stark light of the screen fade a touch. She didn't look.

What if it was him? What if it wasn't him? Which possibility scared her more? She knew, but admitting it, even to herself, would only make it harder to look at the message.

The text was probably from someone else entirely. Maybe it was an email. The sound was the same for texts and emails.

She knew she was stalling, but not knowing was easier. At least for now, just another minute….

Her phone chimed again. This time she looked.

It's me. ;)

The second notification was a photo, which her phone wouldn't show until she unlocked it. Her eyes went wide as she reached for the rectangle that linked her to the world. To him. She nearly knocked it off the nightstand but caught it before it tumbled to the floor.

It was him. Lying in bed. Shirtless. Hair rumpled. Smile so wide his eyes were half shut. He looked tired and adorable and hot. It was him.

Her eyes went to his naked chest. She'd seen him shirtless before, millions of people had in movies and on magazine covers. But this photo of him-sheet-wrapped, baggy-eyed, and shiny from the camera flash-was just for her. The thought made her breath catch and stirred an ache between her thighs.

Another photo popped up. This time the camera was closer to his face and there was a headboard behind him instead of a pillow. He was pointing to himself, eyes up and mouth open so that he looked surprised.

She laughed, delighted to discover he was such a dork. She thumbed half a dozen responses and backspaced them all before finally deciding to keep it simple.

Hi. :)

She was trying to think of something else to say when the next text came.

I'm really happy to hear from you.

I'm really happy it's you, she responded. I thought it would be a PR person or something.

I wanted to talk to you, sweetheart. Not send you a picture.

A smile stretched her mouth so wide her cheeks hurt, but it was impossible to stop. What do you want to talk about? ;)

Pulling out the winky face, huh? Someone's got a dirty mind.

Allow me to remind you that you started this conversation with a winky face.

True. I guess we both have dirty minds.

That observation drew a laugh from her throat that swirled into a moan as she thought about being wrapped in those bleached white sheets with him-his hands cradling her face, then wrapped around her waist, and tracing up her thigh.

Her phone chimed. I'll save that knowledge for later. ;) Did you get all of your autographs?

Almost. Any weird photographs?

One proposal (he said yes!) and one who had me down on one knee so it would look like I was proposing.

Aww. Super sweet and super weird all in one day. No wonder you're tired.

Are you saying I need my beauty rest?

Uh, no. Your photo ops would be nothing but people proposing to you if you got more beauty rest.

Aww. You think I'm pretty.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. The jury decided that one a long time ago.

I think you're pretty too, sweetheart.

Her eyes found the ceiling and her teeth found her bottom lip. A satisfied, disbelieving huff of breath broke from her chest. She bit her lip harder, but the message was still there. This didn't feel like a dream, but it didn't feel real either. Her phone chimed again and she realized that it was now her favorite sound.

Are you a boring sleepyhead like me or are you up doing something fun?

I'm staying with a friend but she has work in the morning, so I'm a boring sleepyhead too. Still having fun though. ;)

You don't live in San Diego?

Nope. I fly home tomorrow night.

Me too. Two days home in NYC before it's back on a plane for another con.

New York. They both lived in New York. She started to type, her fingers fumbling and giddy with the prospect of them seeing each other again, but she stopped halfway into the message.

She still didn't know what this was. Just because she felt like she knew him more than any other stranger on the street didn't mean that she did. They had just met. What was she expecting?

Finally, she thought of something else to talk about. Do you have another event tomorrow?

Not a thing. I'm going exploring.

A moment later, a photo popped up. This time, the camera was facing outward, showing the railing of a hotel balcony with the dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean on the left and the twinkling lights of downtown San Diego on the right.

I wish I had that view right now.

I bet you have a fantastic view. Let me see?

After seeing that piece of skyline, she felt silly taking a picture of her friend's guest bedroom with its blank walls and narrow windows, but that was better than snapping a shot of the dark street outside.

His message came quick after she sent the picture.

I knew you had a fantastic view.

Her eyebrow rose at that. I mean, I know the quilt is colorful, but it's no ocean.

The quilt is nice and all, but I'm talking about you. You can look up at that mirror anytime you want. I'd trade that view for this one in a heartbeat.

Her breath seized. The damn dresser mirror. She hadn't thought about her own reflection when she took the picture. She scrolled back up to see the picture she had sent him, but there wasn't much to see. Her knees were up and her phone was in front of her face. Her pajamas were form-fitting but comfortable. If anything, he'd caught a glimpse of a few more inches of her arms and chest than he had earlier, but that was it.

You can hardly see me.

I'll take what I can get. ;)

While he wasn't exactly asking, the urge to return his selfies became overwhelming. She wanted to know what he would say. She swapped the camera view and looked at the view he was so eager for. One hand went to her hair, smoothing and tugging it into a flattering frame. Her bottom lip was wet and a little swollen from being tugged by her teeth all day, but that didn't seem like a bad thing. She tried not to overthink her expression like she often did when taking selfies. Instead, she thought of how he sounded when he called her sweetheart.

It took him longer to reply than it had been, and her stomach soured a bit as the seconds passed. She had long since washed the makeup from her face, and the lighting from the fan overhead was harsh. He was a bona fide movie star. Why was she sending him a selfie?

Her phone chimed.

I take back what I said. You're not just pretty. You're gorgeous. Thank you for sending that. Best view ever. I can almost see how far your blush reaches.

She knew exactly how far her blushed reached. She wanted him to see it all and more, wanted to see all of him too.

;) ;) ;) was all she could manage to send.

Do you have any plans tomorrow?

It's a free day for me too. Want to explore together? She didn't know what to expect from him, but she knew that she wanted as much as she could get.

Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.


	3. Chapter 3

Though sleep had come in fits and starts, she woke with a burst of adrenaline. Her friend had already left for work, so she had the house to herself to get ready. With shower taken and hair styled, she made a cup of coffee and ate a plum and some toast. It only took a few minutes to pack and clean up. Then there was nothing left to do but lock the door, hide the key under a rock, and wait for an uber.

When she arrived at Mission Beach, she texted him, describing the bench where she was sitting, halfway between the shore and a patch of wind-blown, gnarled trees. With nothing but the waves and passersby to distract her, she suddenly filled with doubt.

He hadn't texted at all that morning. What if he didn't show? What if he did and they had nothing to talk about?

But the tendrils of fear didn't have time to grow out of control because his deep, honeyed voice was already calling out a greeting behind her. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey," she said, thankful the word came out as more than a whimper.

He closed the last few steps between them as she stood. He was wearing a blue t-shirt that matched the jewel tone of the ocean twinkling on the horizon and striped gray swim shorts. He lifted the dark sunglasses covering his eyes and tucked them into his hair.

The smile he gave her made her feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. When his arms wrapped around her waist, she wondered if he could feel her tremble. He breathed in deep, snuggling into the scent of her freshly washed hair. That gave her the courage to revel in his own scent, earthy with a hint of sweetness.

"Want to go claim a spot?" he asked. She nodded and let him take her hand as they walked onto the sand.

Happily, there was a lot to talk about. He asked her how she first became interested in the movie he was promoting at Comic-Con. That opened up a long conversation about the various media that they enjoyed-movies, books, shows, and music. They had more overlap than she would have suspected, which made it a little easier to admit just how much she knew about the series he starred in.

There was no shade on the beach itself and soon the prospect of the chilly ocean water was a welcome one. "Want to make use of that swimsuit?" she asked.

"Not without you," he said, looking down at her street clothes.

She gave him a smile and rose to her feet, peeling off her clothes to reveal the swimsuit that had taken an entire day's worth of shopping to find at the start of summer. The look on his face made facing all those glaring changing room mirrors worth it. "Let's go," she said, giggling as he scrambled after her.

The water was colder than what she was used to on the East Coast, which made her all the more glad when he wrapped his hands around her waist and kept them there. They talked about the ins and outs of their careers and even a bit about their friends and family.

Though the beach was busy, no one disturbed their personal bubble. It wasn't until she saw a guy on shore with his phone pointed in their direction that she considered what it might look like they were doing pressed so close together. She was about to suggest they open up a space between them when she realized that his eyes had been locked on her the whole time her attention was on the shore. She felt her cheeks warm under his gaze.

"I'm really glad you texted," he said.

"I still can't quite believe you gave me your number."

"Best decision I've made in years."

And just like that, his lips were closing in on hers. His lips were soft and warm, still minty from toothpaste. Their mouths opened at the same time and she felt him smile against her before he set to exploring the way she tasted.

It seemed to go on forever, but it was still over too soon. He rested his forehead against hers then pulled away with a reluctant groan. "Hungry, sweetheart?"

"I could eat."

They chose a boardwalk restaurant and asked to sit on the patio to take advantage of the ocean view. The tables were lined with beer labels, signaling the wide variety of brews available. The menu was a mix of seafood and pub entrees, all of which sounded good after the jumble of nerves and a morning spent in saltwater. In the end, they chose to order a blend of appetizers, sides, and a sandwich to share.

The restaurant patio was split in two. The section where they were seated wasn't large. It held less than a dozen tables and there was little room between each. Only a low half wall made of thick glass separated them from the crowds on the sidewalk.

A large red umbrella kept the sun off their faces, so he took off his sunglasses. She was glad to see his eyes rather than the reflection of the lenses.

Their plates were mostly empty when two women froze beside them on the other side of the barrier wall. It was clear they recognized him even before they said anything, but it only took a moment for the taller woman to verify it by asking for an autograph. There was an awkward shuffle while they searched for paper none of them had, but their waitress soon came to the rescue.

"I thought you looked familiar," the waitress said, handing him the pad and pen she used to take orders. He smiled as he scribbled his signature on two pieces of paper and handed them to the waiting ladies.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been asking for his autograph, but it hadn't even been twenty-four hours. The shorter woman held her phone out across the glass. "Will you take our picture?"

"Uh, sure." She wasn't jealous. How silly would it be to be jealous? She was the one sitting with him. She was the one he texted selfies to. But why her? Why not them? They were beautiful and tan and seemed perfectly nice. This must happen to him all the time.

Sure, her question had impressed him and they found it blissfully easy to talk and laugh, but he called her sweetheart before any of that happened. What made her more than just another face in the crowd?

The camera shutter sound clicked three times when she pressed the button. She checked the pictures to make sure there was at least one photo where the trio was all smiles and open eyes before handing it back. The ladies thanked them and continued their walk, but it was impossible to miss the curious look they shot her before they turned the corner.

The waitress returned and made a joke about serving a celebrity. As she filled their water glasses, she gave the same curious, appraising glance the two ladies had. In fact, that same stare could be seen on several other diners' faces.

Sweetheart had become very interested in her food, specifically moving it around the plate with little nudges of her fork. He knew they were being watched. Attention had been drawn to them and it wasn't going to go away until they went somewhere else. But it was only a matter of time before it happened again. And again.

He wondered if anyone had taken a picture of them yet. Probably so. Movie star and mystery woman. It didn't have to end up in a tabloid to make the rounds on the internet. All it took was one dedicated person to find her social media accounts and then there'd be a thousand people on her digital doorstep, hurling insults twice as fast as any questions or compliments.

He had at least nominally signed up for that level of scrutiny. She hadn't. Pulses of guilt and grief seized him when he thought of what might come next. He was about to apologize and offer to take her home when he remembered that she didn't live in San Diego either.

When he looked at her again, her face was no longer on her plate. Her lips were a stiff line of apprehension, but there was a hard determination in her eyes.

"Want to get out of here?" he asked.

She nodded without hesitation, so he pulled out enough cash for the meal and a generous tip before they used a gap in the patio wall to leave. Neither of them said anything until they stopped to watch a group of screaming people plunging down the track of a roller coaster not far from the restaurant.

"Why me?" she asked, watching the roller coaster cars climb the next summit of the track.

When he turned to look at her, she met his eyes. "I don't think there's any logical explanation," he said. "It was all feeling. As soon as you stepped up to the mic, I felt a connection. Then we went back and forth, and it just felt right. You made me think. You made me laugh. And then you were in front of me again and I couldn't just let you go without at least the possibility of seeing you again. Does that make sense?"

He didn't realize how tense he was until he saw her grin. "Yeah, actually. I know exactly what you mean," she said.

The impulse to kiss her again pulsed through his fingers and lips. His hands moved away from his sides, ready to cup her face and pull her in, but he pushed them into his pockets instead. He wouldn't give that photo op to any more bystanders until he talked to her about what that could mean for her. Even in his pockets, his hands fidgeted with the desire to touch her.

She wrapped her hands around one of his restrained arms. They watched the roller coaster for a few more minutes until a song sounded from the bag hanging from her opposite shoulder. The music turned out to be an alarm reminding of her upcoming flight.

"What time do you leave?" he asked.

"Departure at 7:45."

"That's funny. That's my takeoff time too."

Something in the way she ducked her head tipped him off. "Wait, where are you going? Where do you live?"

She bit her lip. Her lips shifted as she formed an answer that should have been immediate. "New York City." She peeked at him between squinting eyelids.

"You didn't want me to know that, did you?" he said, apologetic and uncertain.

"No, it's not that," she said, shaking her head. "Spending time with you yesterday and today has been great-"

He raised an eyebrow. "All of it? Even having random people stare at you?"

"Ok, that was definitely odd, but it wasn't exactly unexpected. Yesterday, I was the one asking you for an autograph! I didn't tell you where I lived because I didn't want you to think I expected anything."

"You didn't want me to think you expected anything?! I was worried I came off as some creepy perv."

She laughed at that. "You've been a perfect gentleman!"

"I'm not so sure about that. You hang out with me long enough and a few staring strangers will seem quaint."

"I know your life is weird, but I'd kind of like to give weird a chance," she said. More words came out from her in a rush. "If you're up for it. No pressure though. Seriously."

"Yeah. Let's give weird a chance," he said, grinning from a rush of joy.

She tugged on his arm until he stepped closer to her, then tugged on the collar of his shirt until his lips met hers. Smooth like silk and sweet like candy. That was her kiss. When they broke apart to breathe, he asked, "Wanna ride to the airport together?"

"That sounds perfect."

"I just need to pick my stuff up from the hotel. It's not far."

He was all too happy to show her the view she envied the night before. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She smelled of salt, and he remembered the pressure of her legs wrapped around his hips while they waded through the ocean.

She spun in his arms and placed her hands on his neck, sending shivers down his spine as her fingers threaded through his hair. He dipped his head and slid his tongue across the salty skin of her shoulder then traced a path of wet kisses up her neck. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps and she let out a soft moan. He answered her keening with a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a needy groan.

Her hands rubbed down his arms, stopping to squeeze his palms and pull him toward the bed. She let go long enough to spread out on the bed and smile yearningly at him. He was already straining against the mesh inside his swim shorts.

"Want you," she said, beckoning him closer with a curled finger.

He crawled onto the bed, straddling her thighs and putting a hand on either side of her head. Her chest rose with each breath, pressing against the flesh hidden behind his blue shirt. They were both panting, no more than a few inches separating any part of their bodies.

When she moved to lift her head off the mattress, he dove to meet her, crushing their lips together and going down on his forearms to close the gaps between them. Her nails grazed his back until they reached the hem of his shirt. Her hands went beneath the fabric and rubbed against his bare skin.

He kissed her hard before breaking away so he could go up on his knees and take off his shirt. She hummed her approval at his choice and bit her lip as his fingers skimmed the slight stretch of belly her shirt had revealed as she writhed under him.

He padded backward until he could plant a row of kisses on the exposed skin, loving the way her hands grazed against any part of him she could touch. Bit by bit, he nipped the fabric between his teeth so he could caress more of her bare skin. When he eventually skimmed across her ribs, her whole body shivered.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he asked. "We don't have much time."

Instantly, one of her hands disappeared, seeking out the hardness between his thighs. "Wanna touch you."

"Mmm," he moaned back. "Can I touch you too?"

She nodded, her eyes rolling shut. "Yeah. Want that too."

The knot in his drawstring didn't offer her much resistance, and her hands were on him and making his head spin before he could do anything else.

The stiff fabric of his shorts scratched the back of her hand, but the sensation barely registered before her fingers reached the hot, hard length beneath his waistband.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, thrusting into the friction she offered. His fingers fumbled around the button of her bottoms. He let out a triumphant growl when it finally slipped free of its binding.

The sound fractured the focus of her movements, which only stuttered more when he found her folds. She hadn't known how wet she was until she felt how easily he slipped across her sensitive flesh. Her back arched off the bed when he thrust two fingers into her waiting heat.

"That feel good, sweetheart?"

"So good. More," she murmured.

Another finger joined the two inside as his thumb rubbed soft circles around the knot of nerves at the top of her folds. She ground into the delicious pressure and tightened her grip on him again.

Her free hand dug into his bicep, roamed across his chest, and reached up to caress his face. He leaned into the touch, kissing her fingertips as they worked each other over.

Her body warmed with an impending climax. He felt her walls fluttering around his fingers. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me."

She fisted his cock faster as pleasure crashed over her, willing him to follow her. The air around them bloomed with the sound and scent of her orgasm. He convulsed above her, spilling into her hand and grunting with the force of it.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, licking the flavor of her from his fingers and pulling her in to snuggle. She purred as they melted into the luxurious feel of one another.

The clock on the nightstand glowed red, warning them of the time crunch they were under. He pressed kisses across her damp hairline, loosening his grip so they could make themselves presentable for the flight home.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go be weird together."


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks didn't give them much opportunity to see one another in person. He had a grueling media tour schedule and she had her own work to keep up with. They made do with texts, phone calls, and a few selfie exchanges. At first, she kept the messages to a minimum, determined not to overstep any unseen boundaries. He followed her lead, but his own desires stirred him to action as his second week on tour came to an end.

Can I call you tonight?

His text message came while she was eating breakfast. She smiled at the question, but her thumbs hovered uncertainly over the keyboard when she went to reply. We just talked last night, silly! Before she finished chewing her next bite, he replied.

And…? Are you bored of me already, sweetheart?

A small laugh huffed out of her lungs at that idea. Most of her brain power went to thinking about him these days. She didn't know how long this could last, but she was determined to enjoy it for as long as it did. Not even close, she texted back. You can call so long as you promise not to get bored of me.

Don't worry. That's an impossibility.

Her stomach fluttered at his attention and another message came before she could reply.

I want to see you tonight. How about a video chat instead of just a phone call?

After backspacing fifteen or so exclamation points, she texted him back. Yes! When?

By the time she finished breakfast, they had agreed on a time and said their temporary goodbyes. With him tied up in interviews all day, there wouldn't be much chance to chat before night came.

The only highlight of her otherwise routine workday was lunch with a few friends. It was a regular meetup, but the first she had been to since attending Comic-Con. For once, the short lunch hour was a relief. The more time spent near friends that knew even the most mundane details of her life, the harder it was to keep the clandestine relationship under wraps.

He hadn't asked to be a secret, but the whole thing felt fragile. They were living in a little, lust-filled bubble. If she moved too much or spoke too loud, it was sure to pop. Telling her friends would make it real and she wasn't sure what that would mean yet.

Not even her friend in San Diego knew that she had texted him back. But how long until said friend brought up the story of the flirty actor and wondered why it hadn't already been told? How long until someone snapped a picture of them out somewhere?

No. None of those worries were worth popping the bubble of bliss. Enjoy it while it lasted and hope it didn't end too soon. Don't get attached to what can't last. That was her plan and she was sticking to it.

The text message alert her phone sounded halfway through lunch had to be from work. The friends she talked to the most were all with her and he was stuck in back-to-back interviews. But when she unlocked her phone, the message was actually from him.

Can't wait until tonight, sweetheart. Hope you're having a great day! 3

Blushing and giggling while surrounded by the friends she definitely wasn't telling was not a part of the plan, but it happened anyway.

"You okay?" her friend asked, nudging an elbow into her ribs.

She clicked her phone to darken the screen and cleared a non-existent cough from her throat. "Yep."

She was not getting attached. Right?

When the appointed hour arrived, he was laying in another hotel bed, sweat still clinging to the dips of his body from a quick session in the gym. He pulled his laptop from his suitcase and checked his phone as it turned on. He had two text messages. The first was from sweetheart, a reply to the text he sent while scarfing down a catered sandwich between interviews.

Me too! I hope the interviews are going well.

The other text was from his publicist. Something I should know?

Beneath the message was a blurry photo of him and sweetheart. They had gone to brunch the day after they got back from San Diego, it was the only hour they managed to spend together before he had to take off again. The photo showed them leaving the restaurant walking side by side. It was a random bit of luck that the photo didn't show them holding hands. Their fingers must have laced together mere moments after the shutter clicked. Once it was in his grasp, he didn't let her hand go until they had no choice but to part ways.

The picture must have been taken by a fan. No freelancer would have missed their entwined limbs or the few precious seconds when his lips pressed against her forehead as they said their goodbyes.

If his publicist had the image, it must already be making the rounds on gossip blogs. What's the damage? he asked.

None so far. Most everyone likes your new haircut and almost no one has mentioned her. Again, anything I should know?

He knew the question came from a good place. To control a story, you had to be in front of it. This photo was blurry enough that there was little chance of anyone identifying the woman who walked beside him. But if there was any hint of a story to be had, the next photo would be crystal-clear and there'd be nothing would stop the tsunami of attention.

He rolled his eyes and tossed his phone toward the foot of the bed. There wouldn't be any opportunities for pictures while he was out of town. That meant at least eight more days he could spend making sweetheart smile before reality could intrude.

The smile he greeted her with was just not fair. Full and bright and open, it spoke of private jokes and lazy afternoons and complete adoration.

"You have to stop looking at me like that," was the first thing she said to him, a statement that did not agree with the utter joy shining on her own face.

"Why?" he asked, sounding amused and distressed. "I'm happy to see you."

She chuckled at the absurdity of their affectionate bubble. "I'm happy to see you too."

"Then why do I have to stop?"

"Because you're going to make me…." Her lips curled in to keep the treacherous thought inside. She could not tell him that the possibility of falling in love had already crossed her mind. Definitely not. But she had to finish the sentence somehow. "Miss you even more." Still probably too much, but true nonetheless.

To her surprise, his answer wasn't teasing. "I miss you too, sweetheart." His smile softened to closed lips and faint dimples. There was comfort and familiarity in his expression. She wasn't sure they had earned those emotions yet, but she felt them all the same.

Something hesitant took over his face. His jaw dropped and his eyes left the screen. She was about to ask what was wrong when his body shifted and the camera angle changed. Now he was lying on his side with his head propped up in one hand and his laptop in front of him, allowing her to see him from head to waist. Whatever he was about to say was swallowed by her next statement.

"You're not wearing a shirt," she said, accusing and a little breathless.

Just like that, his expression was all seductive confidence. "Like what you see?"

That was even less fair than his smile. "I'd like it more if I could touch."

"You've got plenty of delectable skin to explore," he said, licking his lips.

She quirked an eyebrow and gave into the warmth of a blush. "What are you suggesting?"

He sucked his tongue against his teeth and cast his gaze around as if he was looking for an idea. A sound vibrated his throat, more moan than hum. "You've got a lot to touch."

"Mmm. Mm-hmm. Wanna play a game? Pretend my hands are yours?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice a breathy whisper. "Just need a little imagination."

It was her turn to get comfortable. With her computer just far enough away to give him a full view, she propped herself up on a couple of pillows and put a finger to her lips. "I think I'm gonna need some help figuring out where your hands would go."

His breath hitched as his eyes roamed over her body. "I'd just want to feel you first. Rub my palms over your belly and scratch my nails down your thighs."

"You like working me up, don't you?"

"Damn right. Go on sweetheart, touch yourself like I would."

She did, closing her eyes and letting his voice guide her motions.

"You have no idea what I would give to kiss you right now. You taste so sweet. I want to find all the little places to kiss and suck that'll make your eyes roll back in your head. Where are they, hmm? Behind your ear? Down your neck? Where your hips curve? I'll put my mouth on every inch on you. I want to discover every spot that drives you wild."

She whimpered at his words, pressed her thighs closer together to enjoy the squeeze, and listened as he kept going.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart. You always do but right now, oh, you look so needy and hot. Makes me want to spend hours teasing you. I'd get between your legs so we could grind against one another. Suck on one of your nipples through your shirt while my hand went to rub against the other one. I'd get them nice and hard and then keep moving down. Kiss and squeeze your thighs and keep my mouth between your legs. I'm so hungry for you, you'd feel my breath through your shorts. I'll tease you until you're trembling for me, begging for me take off all your clothes. Would you do that, sweetheart? Would you beg for me?"

"Mmm. Yes. Please. Want that." Her words pulsed. Her fingers gripped the inside of her thighs, a satisfying pressure but so much less than what she craved.

"Look at me, sweetheart. Let me see your pretty eyes."

She blinked away the haze of passion, only to have it reignited when she saw his blown pupils. "Will you touch yourself for me? Do what I wish I was there to do?"

She bit her lip and nodded. The smile he gave her was the best kind of wicked. "Go on, sweetheart. Put those talented fingers on that sweet little clit. I wanna see you come undone for me."

Her hands went to the hem of her pants but paused there. Now that her eyes were open, she couldn't ignore the bulge in the silky fabric of his workout shorts. "Only if you do too. I want you to feel good too."

"If that's what my sweetheart wants." He shifted to his back and pulled the shorts down enough to show the top curve of his ass and release his erection. His thick cock curved towards his abs, straining with need. His head turned back to the screen as he took himself in hand. "Go on. I want to hear you moan my name."

The combination of his filthy words and aroused body made her eyes roll back. She slid her hand into her underwear and circled her clit before dipping a finger into her opening. Her folds were wet and warm. She gathered some of the slippery substance and went back to rubbing circles.

His voice reached her through the pleasure. "You tasted so good on my fingers. I can't wait to get my mouth on you. I want you to come all over me so I can lick you clean. I'll do it again and again until you're so sensitive you can't take it anymore."

That did it. Her body tensed and vibrated beneath her fingers as she imagined him between her thighs. His name fell from her lips like a prayer. Her body was still pulsing when she heard him grunt with his own climax.

"That was amazing," she said when her breath had regained some semblance of a rhythm.

"You were amazing," he said, rolling back to his side.

His shorts were back to their proper place on his hips, much to her disappointment. "How long until you get back? I need to get my hands on you."

"Eight days, sweetheart. Eight days."


End file.
